


Hold Me Close and Surrender

by annundriel



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 04:31:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6455950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annundriel/pseuds/annundriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've touched (some) and kissed (lots) and that's all it takes to make them cling, to make Jack's voice shake and Bitty’s heart thunder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Me Close and Surrender

Jack is warm against him, chest broad, shoulders strong under Bitty's hands as they sit on the end of Jack’s bed. The denim of his jeans is rough beneath Bitty's thighs, and Bitty wants to ask him to remove them, wants to feel Jack skin on skin on skin. He can't, though, can't do anything but breathe Jack's name as Jack holds him close, kissing from Bitty's mouth to his jaw to his neck and then... _oh_.

Bitty shudders against him, fingers digging into the curve of his shoulder, slipping into the short, soft hair at the back of Jack's head. Jack's mouth is...it's... _Lord_. Jack's mouth is hot against his skin, hot and wet and perfect as he sucks at Bitty's neck, and Bitty moans, hitching himself closer. 

"Bitty." Jack's voice is thick, his breath ghosting over Bitty’s damp skin. Bitty shivers, tilts his head. Gives Jack more room. He can feel Jack's mouth curve in a smile against him, can feel the tip of his nose and the hint of his lips as he follows the line of Bitty’s throat to the line of his jaw before pressing a kiss there, open-mouthed, tender. Sweeter than apple pie. Bitty sighs, and Jack's fingers flex where they're pressed against the space between his shoulders. "You feel—"

Jack stops with a groan when Bitty moves against him. He's hard, they both are, and Bitty feels something hot and bright as lightning zing through him as Jack's hips hitch.

" _Fuck_." Jack presses his forehead against Bitty, face tucked in the curve of his neck. Bitty can't help the huff of a laugh that escapes, more breath than substance, as he cradles Jack's head.

"I feel?" he prompts, curious and daring and wanting badly to hear Jack say it.

"So good," he says, voice muffled. "Bitty." Bitty doesn't think he'll ever get tired of Jack saying his name like that. "You feel so good."

He sounds broken, and Bitty can't handle that, can't breathe through the overwhelming feeling in his chest at the knowledge that they've barely done anything and they both sound wrecked. They've touched (some) and kissed (lots) and that's all it takes to make them cling, to make Jack's voice shake and Bitty’s heart thunder.

"Jack," he breathes, fingers moving to press against Jack's jaw, his cheeks, to maneuver Jack until they're face to face. Jack's eyes are dark and hot and Bitty can't help but tip forward to fit their mouths together. It's chaste at first, this kiss, and then Jack shivers against him, hands tightening on skin, and Bitty has to taste. Lips parting, the tip of his tongue flickers at Jack's bottom lip and then Jack is groaning and his mouth is opening and Bitty feels hot all over, molten to the core as hands roam and lips cling.

They kiss, and Bitty loses track of time, the world contracting around them to these four walls, this bed, the space between them. There is nothing but Jack, his mouth sweet against Bitty’s own, his hands gentle, his skin smooth. The hair of his chest tickles, and Bitty can't get over the feel of him, pulls away to kiss from the corner of his mouth to his jaw, to suck at the column of his neck. Jack vibrates beneath his lips, and Bitty can't help but grin. 

"Bitty. Bits. I want--"

"Yeah?" Bitty says, shifting to nip at the line of Jack's collarbone. He can hear Jack's breath catch.

"I want to touch you."

A nip; a kiss; Jack's Adam's apple beneath his lips. "You are touching me."

Jack huffs a laugh, his arms pulling Bitty closer. "No, I want—" He shifts them again, pulling back to look at Bitty. His tongue when he licks his lips is distracting, but then his hand moves and all Bitty can focus on is the path it takes along his waistband to the button of his shorts. "Can I?"

Bitty swallows. Jack's fingers tickle at the skin low on his stomach, the side of his hand brushing Bitty through the layers of his shorts and underwear. This isn't something they've done yet, though he's thought about it; Jack's hand on his bare thigh, his hip; Jack's hand wrapping around him, palm wide and fingers—

He nods. "Yeah." He clears his throat. "Yeah, Jack, I—Yes."

Jack smiles, the corners of his mouth gone soft, as he thumbs the button open. Bitty’s grateful one of them has some experience here because he can barely breathe—can barely _think_ —as Jack's hand moves between them. This is happening. This is really happening and—

Jack fumbles at the zipper, and something in the moment breaks. Bitty breathes and looks at him and, yes, Jack may be more experienced, but his cheeks are flushed and his hand is trembling and Bitty is suddenly filled with so much tenderness for him he aches with it.

"Oh, Jack," he breathes.

Jack's smile has gone crooked, rueful. "It's, uh. It's been awhile. Sorr—"

"Jack Laurent Zimmermann, are you really apologizing to me _now_?" Bitty grins, tipping forward to press their foreheads together. "I don't care. I just want—" He can feel the flush in his cheeks deepening. "I just want you."

Their heads rock together as Jack nods, his hand hot where he grips Bitty’s thigh. And then that hand is moving, his thumb rubbing deliberately over the line of Bitty’s dick, and Bitty cannot help the sound that slips through his lips as Jack finds his zipper again, as he fits their mouths together and tugs. 

At the first touch of Jack's fingertips on him through his briefs, Bitty gasps, pulling away and looking down to watch Jack's hand on him. Foreheads touching, Jack breathes his name— _Bitty_ —and fits his hand against him, fingers and palm and, God, Jack's hand is big. Bitty can't help the way his hips hitch up into him. He'd be embarrassed by his eagerness, but Jack makes a noise low in his throat that sends sparks down Bitty’s spine. His hand moves, fingertips scrabbling to get under the briefs’ elastic, and suddenly everything is moving fast, the two of them shifting until Eric's briefs are pulled just out of the way, and then—

" _Fuck_ ," Eric breathes and cannot look away.

Jack touches him, the pads of his fingers careful as they trace over Bitty’s skin. It's hot between them, their breath mingling when Bitty remembers to breathe, and Bitty clutches at Jack's shoulders, wanting more. It's overwhelming, this idea that he can have more, that shortly—very shortly—he will have more. Bitty had thought about this before, had tried so hard not to, but Jack had been there in the back of his mind with his blue eyes and big hands and Bitty was only human and he'd wondered, okay? He had wondered if Jack would be slow and sweet or if he'd be fast and...not so sweet. He can hardly believe he's here and now finding out that Jack's hands and breath tremble, that his chest flushes, that he says Bitty’s name like the syllables are something to be savored on the tongue. That he touches Bitty like he can't believe he gets this, too.

Time stops or ceases to exist, Bitty isn't sure. All he knows is that Jack is touching him, that it feels like it's been forever since he started and no time at all. The pads of Jack's fingers trace the length of him, up and down, circle around the head. When Bitty sighs and shifts, Jack shifts, too, and wraps his hand around him. His grip is loose at first, holding, and his thumb brushes against Bitty once before he presses more firmly.

"Oh," Bitty breathes. "Oh, Jack."

"Bits."

Oh, _Lord_.

"Bitty." His fingers shift. "Is this...Is this okay?"

Bitty laughs, he can't help it, but when he looks at Jack, the expression on his face has gone twisted. It makes Bitty’s heart lurch.

"No," he says. "No, no, no. _Jack_. I wasn't—This is—This is _wonderful_. _You're_ wonderful. I wasn't—Don't you ever feel so happy you can't contain it and it just bubbles right on out of you? Like a pot overflowing? Lord, I'm messing this all up, aren't I? Jack, I—"

Jack's mouth is firm, his lips gentle.

"I think you found a way to stop me babbling," Bitty says after a moment (or two, or three).

The corners of Jack's eyes crinkle when he laughs. "Okay," he says. "I get it."

"Good." Bitty smiles, and then gasps when Jack's hand moves between them. "Great." His own fingers shift on Jack's skin, skimming over the muscles curve of his shoulders to his chest. He pauses, and can feel Jack's heart beating beneath his palm. "What do you like?" he asks, and his voice is hardly recognizable to his own ears.

"You." He blushes, and Bitty can't look away from the blue of his eyes or the fall of his hair. The way his lips are pink and kiss-bitten.

"Oh." It's a slip of sound, but the corners of Jack's mouth lift and then his hand moves on Bitty as he leans in to press trailing kisses from Bitty’s mouth to his jaw, to the marks Bitty is sure are blooming on his neck from earlier. Jack kisses him there and strokes his cock and Bitty thinks he must have died because this? This is heaven.

They cling together, Jack working him until Bitty is squirming against him, whimpering when Jack's thumbs sweeps across the head, spreading precome, Bitty slick and wanting. He hitches toward Jack, wanting to be closer, aware that Jack is hard beneath the layers of his clothes, that he can feel Jack's cock hard against him and that is _his_ doing, Bitty’s. Jack is hard because he wants Bitty, because he likes him, and it's that thought that pushes Bitty over the edge as Jack mouths at his skin, that thought that leaves him gasping and coming between them with a sound that might be Jack's name but could just be a groan, long and drawn out.

When he can breathe again, Jack's arms are around him, Jack's face tucked against his neck. Jack's breath is hot against him, his hand sticky with— _goodness_.

"Jack, I'm a—you're a—we're a mess."

Jack says something, but it's muffled and Bitty has to ask him to repeat it.

"Was it good?"

Bitty sits in stunned silence for a moment and then he laughs, pushing at Jack until Jack is looking at him though his eyelashes and, Lord Almighty, this is going to be a problem. 

"It was amazing," he says. He looks between them, where Jack is still hard, straining at his jeans. "I could show you." His come on Jack's skin, he feels bold. Leaning in, he whispers conspiratorially. "I've been told I have soft hands."

Jack groans, eyes tipping closed and head tipping back, and Bitty grins and pushes him back until he's lying flat, feet still on the floor.

"Jaaaack." Leaning over him, hands on either side of his head, Bitty nuzzles at the line of his neck, nips at the jut of collarbone. He feels light, giddy almost with Jack flushed and hard beneath him.

Wide hands on his hips and Jack looking at him when he pulls away, Bitty can see the flutter of his heartbeat at his throat. He meets Jack's eyes and Jack bites his lip before smiling. "Go on then," he says. "Show me."

Bitty does. Straightening back so his weight is on his knees and Jack's thighs, he reaches for the button of Jack's jeans, pausing momentarily to rub a knuckle down the line of hair that leads from Jack's navel past his waistband. Beneath him, Jack shivers.

"Bitty..."

"Patience, Mr. Zimmermann," he says, thumbing the button open. He pulls at the zip, peeling the denim back to reveal Jack's red boxer-briefs darkened with precome and sweat. Bitty’s eyes go wide as he stares, his eyes moving up Jack's abs to his chest and then his face. "Fuck, Jack."

"I'm not going to—I'm not going to last long, Bits. I just want you to touch me." His voice is hushed, rough with need, and how can Bitty refuse this boy anything?

Bitty nods. “I can do that, yeah.” He traces the length of Jack through the fabric, his heart racing. They’ve seen each other naked before, but only ever in the locker room and never like this, not with meaning, not with intent. He wants to touch. He _gets_ to touch. Jack is hot through the fabric, and Bitty can only imagine the impossible heat of him bare. His mouth waters at the thought of skin against skin and when Jack shudders beneath him—a _please_ growled out—Bitty hooks his fingers at the waistband of Jack’s boxer-briefs and tugs.

Jack lifts his hips—there’s a moment where Bitty almost loses his balance and, oh the bed, _the bed_ , next time they need to use the whole bed—and between them they get pants and underwear pulled down enough for Jack’s cock to bob free. It’s thick, flushed head peeking out of the foreskin, and Bitty wants to fit his lips around it, to taste Jack on his tongue. _Later_ , he thinks. _All the time in the world later_. For now, he wraps his hand around Jack, revels in the feel of him against his palm.

Beneath him, Jack’s breath hisses. His hands flail at his sides before one tangles in the comforter below them, the other touching Bitty’s knee. His fingers brush hair against the grain, and Bitty tingles at the sensation even as he strokes upward experimentally, then down, exposing the head. The movement makes Jack sigh, his thighs flexing, and Bitty watches as the muscles in his abdomen tighten, as he clutches at the sheets and Bitty’s leg.

“Bitty,” he says. “Bits. Please.”

Bitty strokes him and tries to commit this to memory for later, for all the times they’re apart; the flush of Jack’s skin, the rise and fall of his chest as he gets close, the flutter of his eyelashes. The way he looks at Bitty—forcing his eyes to stay open—when his hips jerk and he comes with a groan, mouth falling open.

If they were a mess before, they’re…well. Bitty feels his skin heat, though it seems impossible. There is come across Jack’s stomach, Bitty’s and his own, and Bitty’s hand is sticky and his cock is half-hard already and, _Lord_ , it’s almost too much.

_Almost_ , he thinks. _Not quite. There will never be too much of…of…_

“Bitty,” Jack says, fingers slipping around Bitty’s wrist and tugging. “Come here.”

He goes, arranging himself so they’re chest to chest, face to face. Jack grins up at him, and Bitty’s heart thuds erratically behind his ribs.

“Was that, uh. Was that okay?”

Jack chuckles, a low rumble that Bitty feels more than hears, and reaches up, fingernails scratching against the short hairs behind Bitty’s ear. The sensation sends shivers down Bitty’s spine, and he can’t help but wiggle closer. He also can’t help but notice the way Jack’s breath catches when his hips shimmy or the way his eyes go a little glazed.

“I’m going to take that as a ‘yes,’” Bitty says.

Jack tugs him closer, head tipping up, and kisses him, slow and gentle, lush. It’s the kind of kiss Bitty had always heard about, the kind that makes toes curl and feet pop, the kind that turns bones to jelly. He melts against Jack and knows Jack has him, knows with even more certainty that _Jack_ understands Bitty has him. When Jack pulls away, Bitty is breathless.

“You should.”

Bitty blinks at him.

“Take it as a ‘yes,’” Jack says, nuzzling at him.

“I will.”

“Good.”

“Goo—Jack!” Bitty yelps as the fingers of Jack’s free hand dig into the soft part of him just under his ribs where he’s ticklish. “Jack,” he laughs. “For goodness’ sake, would you just—”

“Shower with me?”

Jack’s breathless now, too. Breathless and smiling up at Bitty like he—like he—

Bitty swallows hard and fits his smiling mouth against Jack’s. “Sure,” he says. “As long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

“You don’t really mean that.”

“Care to test that theory, Mr. Zimmermann?”

Jack does. Repeatedly.

Bitty doesn’t mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by Philip Philips' "Raging Fire."


End file.
